


Because We Would not Stop for Magic

by tilaliastorm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows, Drama, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Post 5X13, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilaliastorm/pseuds/tilaliastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU, Arthur never died, but Magic nearly did. Merlin and Arthur travel back in time to change the future of Magic- or lack thereof. They must revisit old ghosts and relive battles long lost while stopping the Order from wiping out magic itself from Albion. If only Merlin had tidied up a bit better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because We Would not Stop for Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Merlin, which is a shame. No it's not. 
> 
> I've worn out all the time travel fics I can find and have yet to find one like this, so I decided to start writing. 
> 
> The tone for this fic is kind of somber, and it's more of a narrative for the first chapter, but it'll change as soon as Merlin gets his ass out here, don't worry.

Despite all the other mysteries surrounding the prince and his change in demeanor, one question stood out- who, exactly, is Merlin?

If asked, the prince would never answer. In fact, he would shoot off a glare so venomous you would be glad it was frowned upon for even him to go around killing people. Most caught on quickly enough, and it became a taboo subject in the castle.

It was a fickle thing- it wouldn’t have mattered or even been remembered if Arthur had not had such an extreme reaction to the mention of the name. But he did, so it was, and the taboo lived on.

Many wondered if the prince’s behavior could be attributed to this unknown _Merlin_ , but really, any number of things could account for that. Probably.

But whatever the reason, Arthur Pendragon had changed, and the people of Camelot could only hope it was for the better.

In his few remaining months at the age of seventeen, he had gained his knighthood soon followed by command of a small group of fellow knights to lead in patrols and small skirmishes. He was not yet experienced enough to take on the same leadership as, say, Sir Leon or Sir Owain, and he had griped for ages, convinced he had the ability to take on more.  

Just weeks later, his patrol was ambushed on a simple mission, and Arthur quickly ate his words. Two of his men were killed, and he was left with scars already marring his arm. Shaken, the prince retreated in his own shell for a while. Responsibilities he once believed himself entitled to were the last thing he wanted. Arthur’s men were his friends and his brothers-in-arms, and while this period of timidness was short, many peoplebelieved it could have been one of the eye openers that led to his change.

Uther, ignorant to his son’s state, continued to pile on more tasks and responsibility on Arthur’s shoulders. The prince often seemed sluggish and stressed, though no one would dare say it to his face. He was now required to attend all council meetings, in addition to a sort of apprenticeship to Sir Leon as he began to learn to run training sessions, despite his reluctance.

Despite being run ragged, Arthur was still allowed time of leisure, which he promptly used to brag about his new duties. His scars that were supposed to remind him of his failure and incite humility became battle wounds to be shown off.

He would turn his nose up when passing through the lower towns, asserting his importance over them. When reminded of his lesser obligations, he would wave them off, feeling that whatever he felt was more important must be more important. Somehow, his arrogance became entirely too palpable.

The people would laugh it off. Some were angered of course, but honestly, in their eyes he was little more than a boy, and it was to be expected as the only royal child in the land. There was plenty of time for him to learn the honor and attitude beholden to the knights of Camelot.

Until then, however, he would scoff at the poor, throwing bread in the mud. Servants were mistreated, and hopeful squires tossed in the dirt. The people of Camelot waited.

He would become the king they needed. In due time.

* * *

 

The day of his eighteenth birthday, a feast was prepared, the streets were full of smiling faces, and the entire castle was ready for celebration. Twenty four hours later, food laid out wasted and citizens holding their breath in fear, Arthur finally woke up in the physician's chambers.

He opened his eyes, looked around blearily, and called out, "Merlin, you idiot," before looking at Gaius with a shocked expression. His features were quickly schooled, and mumbled something about “it worked, it really worked,” before asking for his father.

The celebration commenced a day later.

Whatever happened that day he was unconscious, Arthur had grown, and not in a physical way.

Three days later, after much fussing on Gaius' part and much indulging in the older man's care on Arthur's part, the prince resumed training, and the differences were immediately noticeable.

Just a few days previous, while sparring with another boy just a few years older, Arthur constantly had trouble with his footwork, leaving himself easily unbalanced and overpowered. His frustration at his defeats was understandable; he was the prince, no one should be able to defeat him, in his mind.

But despite his practicing, in the heat of the moment Arthur couldn’t remember to right his feet. And to the head knights, this was the one thing he truly needed to practice.

Sir Leon expected to be the target of his prince’s ire once again, keeping a watchful eye on his feet during training. His flummoxed expression was easily explained.

Arthur was sparring with a knight much better skilled than himself, and he was performing amazingly. Oh, he still lost, but it was a mystery how. Arthur's feet would glide gracefully into position after position, parrying and striking with ease, but he kept to easy maneuvers, as if hesitant to try anything creative.

A certain spar with Sir Pellinore was quite memorable to his knights. Arthur's feet had locked into place, and he had easily overtaken the older knight before a look of frustration fell on his face, and he snapped out of whatever trance had improved his fighting skills. He twisted his foot, opened his side up, then fell to a simple blow to his side.

Anyone with half a brain could see that he'd thrown the fight, but none dare asked why. Their prince seemed in a foul mood for the rest of the day, leaving his comrades to beat on a training dummy far on the other side of the field.

*****

Not too long after, a clear distance from his old friends was noticeable. His uncomfortable glances and awkward laughter while they picked on a young serving boy began and ended in a day, once he told the other little lordlings off and helped the young boy to his feet.

He could be seen out in the lower town nowadays, talking with merchants and young peasant children, their dirtied faces in awe of him as he laughed and told them stories of great beasts and handsome, loyal knights that had never been heard of before.

There was a stall between a jewelry maker and a pottery merchant where he set up shop at least twice a week, handing out small treats to the children that gathered around as they listened. Often enough, their parents would stand in the back, pretending to shop and listening in to him spinning a tale.

For their amusement, Arthur liked to toss in a dirty joke, mentioning one rugged knight’s many ‘friendships’ with the barmaids far across the land. He made them feel at ease, and from time to time stayed a bit longer after his tale was complete to hear the hustle and bustle of the markets.

Many scorned his actions, wonder why he deigned to even converse with such lower class citizens, but he rationalized his actions to them as gaining their full loyalty to Camelot. After all, if a member of the royal household is willing to meet with the common people for pure enjoyment, there is much less hatred due to class division.

He would later laugh at them behind their backs. The people in the lower town were interesting to him, fun and full of life, while the court life stayed monotonous and stiff, far too structured for him to remain all the time.

There was a gleam in the young prince’s eye that had not been there, before, and to the unobservant it seemed as if Arthur was amused by the persnickety old men on the council. To those who worried about him after his birthday and absorbed his sudden change with growing alarm, however, they could see him mourning losses they could not identify.

Arthur kept up an easy friendship with his knights, but he had no true friendships, where he could let himself be completely at ease and never have to put on a show for those who might look for weaknesses. A friendship like that wasn’t something he was supposed to expect; there were those that were loyal to him, and their companionship should suffice. It was the way it had always been for him growing up, there should never been anything to lose.

So it was curious how, when the prince was seen walking in the square or down a hallway, there was always room to his right. A fleeting smile would cross his face, and he would look over his shoulder and open his mouth, as if to address someone that wasn't there. He would frown and sigh, remembering himself, and a melancholy air would settle around him, weighing down the mood of others if they were around him at the time.

Gradually this practice ceased, and thankfully so, because the prince's expression became more desperate in the following seconds after such moments as time wore on. It was painful to watch- like he was losing hope that whatever- whoever- he may be waiting for just wasn’t coming.

Morgana, the person closest to a peer and a friend to him, tried to confront him at some point about his change in behavior. He pushed her away slowly but methodically, distancing himself until they were merely acquaintances at court. Hurt and confused, Morgana tried to understand what was going on, but a shouting match that could be heard from the halls and rooms surrounding them quelled any possibility of rekindling their friendship.

Arthur remained alone. Sort of. If you knew what he looked like when he wasn’t alone.

*****

Likewise, suddenly Arthur’s new duties became very easy for him to manage, and he was often found out beyond the castle walls, going hunting (bringing back rarely anything, heaven knows why. He always used to try and take down the largest buck, nevermind that there were no means to transport it back without the help of several other men. Nowadays he would call a rabbit or two a successful venture.) or just spending time outside the castle gates.

If he was to be found within the castle, he was most likely in his chaotic, messy chambers, hunched over dusty old tomes from the archives, or scribbling something down on the scrolls and scrolls of parchment piling up in an old drawer out of sight.

The servants, being good, proper servants, never asked him directly what he wrote of, but it was common knowledge among them that this ‘Merlin’ Arthur spoke of on his birthday was mentioned often.

They believed Arthur was writing down the tales for the children, and decided that, if he had not been the prince of Camelot, he would have made a fantastic bard.

Castle gossip about the prince was reduced to silly thoughts similar to this, because there was no evidence of any more indecent expeditions in Arthur’s bed. It was entirely bizarre; the prince's somewhat lecherous gazes, though he had tried hard to disguise them before, had become nonexistent. No woman was able to hold his eye beyond a polite conversation, and he asked for no one at night.

Lady Morgana's maid had been the only talk for weeks. The servants saw everything, and the prince's gaze on Guinevere was hard to miss. But his expression was not that of lust or want, but of confusion and sadness, as if she was a puzzle from his past, of which they had none. They made sure to ask Gwen. Unfortunately for Arthur, they were left to their imaginations.

So talk ran dry, and for all the scullery maids knew, Prince Arthur of Camelot had reached self imposed celibacy. It was said that even the king had questioned his actions, attempting to force a kitchen maid on him to relieve his stress.

The maid in question never dared confirm or deny the allegations.

 (On a side note, one adventurous woman suggested that the prince might be bedding another boy instead, but a thorough investigation was conducted, in which they asked all the servants at court. None had any evidence of such an event, so the idea was discarded.)

Strangest of all, though, was the prince's dismissal of any and all manservants from his service. His chambers remained a disaster that he wouldn’t let anyone touch unless they came to collect his clothes. A parade of inconsequential servants did his laundry, cared for his dogs, and brought up his meals. His armor was sent to the armory to be polished, and he hunted alone or with other knights. He never let anyone help his dress for tournament or patrol, and how he managed to put on his ceremonial robes were a mystery to them all.

His expensive boots were perpetually dirty and scuffed, to the point where, if some maid had come and snuck in during the night to shine them under the order of the king, by midday they’d look just as rugged as they had previously.

How he managed his wardrobe was almost laughable, and would have been if people were allowed to laugh at him. He would wear thick tunics in the middle of the summer, and had once been sent out of a council meeting to properly dress because his chattering teeth were bothering some of the lords. It was as if he had no sense of the weather either, despite having rather large widows in his rooms. Sadly, without a manservant, they remained closed in the mornings until Arthur remembered to have enough sense to look outside before dressing.

The king thought he was being entirely irrational and demanded he take a manservant to tend to his daily needs. But Arthur remained adamant, refusing the aid of anyone who tried to stay and help him, as if he was withholding the position for someone else.

He was shaping up to be a fine prince, proving he would one day rule the kingdom well, but something about the prince set the people ever so slightly on edge. The king would not hear of suggestions that anything could possibly be wrong with his son, and any inquiries on either Gaius's or Morgana's part were met with platitudes for the former and nigh hostility by the latter.

But as time passed, the place by his side remained empty, until it didn't.

* * *

 

The weeks leading up to the 20th anniversary of Uther’s ban on magic, Arthur fell into a frenzy of sorts. He stepped it up in training, and, while he no longer kept throwing fights so obviously, it was clear he had been holding back considerably.

Honestly, Gaius was feeling just a bit overworked, with Arthur himself sending five knights knocking on his door in as many days for treatment. And they really weren’t able to knock themselves, the poor sods had to be carted over by a friend who would knock on his door for them.

But the footwork issues Arthur had worked so hard to fake two years ago were gone, and he quickly and easily maneuvered around his opponents, laughing as they swore when they fell within seconds.

Leon came over to him after training one afternoon, “My lord, might I suggest you keep the men in able condition? I do know they need much practice, but…” the two surveyed the group of bruised and frustrated knights.

Arthur did his best to look apologetic, “Sorry, Leon, it looks like I’ve let myself get away just a bit too far. Perhaps I’ll go for a hunt for the day and let the men rest up,” he decided. As he walked away, he turned to remind the knight, “And call me Arthur, for god’s sake, I’ve been telling you for a year!”

Leon merely chuckled, and replied with a simple, “Yes, Arthur,” before turning to attend to the training once again.

* * *

 

Arthur, as expected, did leave the castle walls on horse, bringing a hook for carrying along what game he might catch (not that it would be much, of course) and a crossbow in hand.

After an hour of riding, he came to a stop at a clearing in the woods, and tied his horse up before settling down in the grass and opening up his saddlebag. He removed several scrolls tied with a blue ribbon some surreptitiously nosy servants would identify from his collection of children’s’ tales. Uther still chided him for that, but knew it was a more or less futile effort in attempting to prevent Arthur going to the lower towns. As long as it was beneficial to Camelot, it was mostly an argument for show.

Ribbons tucked in his pocket, Arthur spread the scrolls, scouring them for his scribbled notes on Merlin. For a time, he had almost believed that he had gone crazy, but the arrival of his manservant in less than a week would confirm otherwise.

He just had to wait, and no matter what others may say about him, he was not a patient man. He was getting jumpy; eager to finally see his longtime friend again, and in his endeavors to make sure that, no, he hadn’t lost any of his fighting abilities after downplaying them for two long years, he admitted to himself he was a bit too eager. Sir Roderick wasn’t very happy with him for nearly severing three good fingers.

He cursed Merlin’s stupid spell again for being age specific instead of time specific, and had spent way too much time than was probably appropriate researching such spells from old books borrowed from Gaius’ chambers. Not that he knew they were borrowed. But anyway, he had come away with absolutely nothing to show that the spell could have been time specific instead, and mentally cursed Merlin for always having to be right.

Bloody warlocks. He just hoped that once Merlin got here, he would really know that this wasn’t all some strange herb-induced hallucination.

Time traveling by oneself seemed to be a bit like a dream as it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a general outline for how I want this fic to go, so if you've got any general ideas or plot points or moments you might want me to see, shoot me a message and I'll see about getting it done before I solidify the outline in the next few days.
> 
> And you know, any feedback is awesome, so review!


End file.
